


Socket Wrench

by lyricalnights



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Motorcycle Sex, Motorcycles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalnights/pseuds/lyricalnights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm reposting my old (very old) HP fanfiction so it'll all be in one place. This was written for Merry Smutmas 2005, so it's canon compliant through HBP only.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Socket Wrench

**Author's Note:**

> I'm reposting my old (very old) HP fanfiction so it'll all be in one place. This was written for Merry Smutmas 2005, so it's canon compliant through HBP only.

"Oh, lord; what's he up to now?"

Neville quickened his pace, trying to shake the queasy feeling that Apparition always gave him while pinning his plant samples, notes, and the weekend shopping to his chest with his left hand and arm. A few apples and some ink-spotted pieces of parchment went tumbling toward the ground, but they took an easy second place to discovering the source of the infernal racket coming from behind the house. He flicked the wand in his right hand at the escaping items and sent them flying somewhere near the house. Close enough, anyway.

"Harry," Neville called with equal parts concern and annoyance as he rounded the corner, "Is that you? What the hell is all that noise about? It sounds like you're murdering skrewts or some-"

Neville broke off his sentence abruptly as he entered the rough shed that propped against their back garden wall like a drunken sailor on the fourth day of a three-day bender. Oh, not good. "Please tell me that isn't what I think it is."

Harry looked up from the corpse of a gutted motorbike, grinning from ear to ear like he enjoyed being covered in engine grease and shallow scrapes. Which he probably did. "Well, that depends on what you think it is. If you think it's a monkey with an accordion, you're way off."

After three years, Neville felt he should have known better than to make a silly statement like that in the first place, but he suspected that Harry's capacity for provoking him grew with time, so he was buggered from the start.

He stood silently, emanating the sort of now-you're-in-for-it glare that had made both bloodthirsty Death Eaters and errant Herbology students stop cold in their tracks and make whimpery noises. Sometimes he wished that Snape or his Gran had survived long enough to witness the Glare, but this was only when he was feeling particularly petty; mostly, he used the Glare for the powers of good. Or when Harry was really pissing him off.

Sensing the incoming irritation, Harry clambered up from the floor and wiped off his hands, first prudently placing the socket wrench he had been wielding on a table out of Neville's immediate reach. He quickly exchanged his grin for a more contrite expression, but Neville wasn't fooled in the least. Not that it ever stopped Harry from trying.

"Fine then, it's a motorbike. A classic Triumph; she'd have been a real beauty in her day." Harry passed a hand along the rear fender of the bike, which was badly in need of major dent removal and a new coat of paint. "Ron found her for me in a junkman's shop when he was in Germany last week scouting new players. No idea how she ended up there, but she's mine now. Can I help you take the food in?"

Neville finally broke his silence, sighing helplessly and handing over half the wrapped packages. "I don't suppose there's any way of talking you out of repairing this thing, enchanting it, and racing it at supersonic speeds all over the countryside under cover of darkness, is there?"

"Seems unlikely at best," Harry said impudently, tweaking Neville's nose and bestowing a quick kiss on his lips before taking off towards the back door. "But at least it isn't a new test broom, and it's not like I can't patch myself up if I take a spill. Being a mediwizard is good for something, at least."

"You'd think a mediwizard would have the sense not to be on an enchanted motorbike in first place," Neville called in return. "But obviously the Ministry was hard up for talent, because they gave you your certification despite the obvious indications of mental instability."

He shot a last, accusatory glance at the scattered pieces of machinery littering the shed floor and stalked out of the shed, muttering about bloody Potters and their bloody death wishes all the way.

*****************

Nearly a month later, Neville stood again in the doorway of the shed, trying to decide if Harry was crazier for having been in love with the stupid motorbike from the beginning, or if he was crazier for falling in love with it right this very moment. Well, maybe love was too strong a word. But lust would certainly feel at home in his psyche next to the new file marked "motorbike, Harry on a."

Said file was, err, growing by the second as Harry bent over the now-gleaming machine checking out various valves and wires one last time. Really, the whole picture was quite fetching, with Harry's trousers riding low on his hips, and the leather jacket hugging his biceps just so. A lesser man might have been arrested mid-fantasy by Harry's unfortunate hair-helmet combo (that helmet had to have been a Weasley contribution to the motorbike project), but Neville was made of sterner stuff. And he intended to prove it this instant.

"What do you say we leave the Great Launching for later?" he asked, stepping up behind Harry and removing the sad-looking helmet from Harry's head.

"Why would I want to do that?" Harry questioned, straightening up and turning. His face flashed from puzzled to mischievous as he saw the look in Neville's eyes.

"Oh, I don't know. I thought we could find something more interesting to do with our evening."

Neville put his arms around Harry and pulled him in tight, enjoying the feel of the worn leather under his fingers. His enjoyment was cut short as Harry stepped back and shrugged out of the jacket, but he returned quickly and pressed his lips against Neville's, comfortably settling back into his arms.

Harry slid his hands under Neville's shirt while Neville pressed his tongue forward into Harry's mouth. Harry gave a muffled grunt and started edging backwards towards whatever available surface they met first.

Much to Neville's delight, this proved to be the motorbike itself, and Harry balanced precariously on the seat while Neville simultaneously tried to explore his tonsils and open his trousers. He managed to work the trousers down around Harry's knees and slid to his own, teasing Harry for a few moments before wrapping his mouth firmly around Harry's cock.

"God, Neville, that's just… yeah… please…"

Caught between wanting to keep his perch and get more involved in the proceedings, Harry compromised by steadying himself against the bike with one hand while the other traveled a restless path between Neville's hair and his own cock. He moaned softly, and then louder, as Neville swallowed him further and further down, stopping only to tease Harry even more with the tip of his tongue.

Harry came, shuddering, just as his hold on the bike slipped. He and Neville and the bike toppled over backward en masse and landed solidly on the cold floor of the shed.

"That's either a testament to my skill or a damned mood killer," Neville said, laughing, as he heaved himself off the motorbike and onto his back.

"Oh, it's definitely your skill," Harry panted, leering at Neville and rolling over on top of him. "And I think skills like that should be rewarded."

Harry kissed his way down Neville's body, opening clothing as he went, until he hovered directly over Neville's cock. "Hey, Neville?"

"Not a good time for a discussion," Neville groaned, moving his hips upward in an attempt to bring Harry back on task.

"Yes, but I was just wondering if you'd join me on a quick ride later tonight," Harry asked, laying a string of soft bites down the join of Neville's hip and thigh.  
Neville thought about refusing on the grounds of outrageous blackmail, but then Harry said "please" and squeezed his cock in just that way.

"Yes, whatever you want, just DO something." Neville practically begged.

Harry smiled and leaned over to suck hard, as Neville gasped and came so hard that his vision swirled.

Crawling back up Neville's body, Harry leaned against him for a moment before scrambling to his feet and looking around for something to clean off with. "Come on then; I want to give her a go, and I'll have to magic out the dents we made falling over."

Neville groaned, but thought to himself that the stupid motorbike had its uses, after all.

~Fin~


End file.
